


This is More Like it

by korik



Category: Black Widow (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bad Innuendo, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, feigning drunk, secretly she is james bond, spy date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korik/pseuds/korik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from tumblr:<br/>You should write a Bucky/Nat where Nat faces a be happy and excited and everything you're not or die situation. Idk optimistic Nat seems like it would be hilarious</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is More Like it

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, well, surprisingly, I tend to think of her as being a very good actor, so this suits her because it’s her job. She may not always be the happiest person on the block, but she has been around enough to be like “yo, come on, really??” - and I love the prompt, so I’mma be dumping some SPY-CANON on ya, say whuuuut *shot*
> 
> I may continue this since I just like the idea of everyone else being "AVENGERS LET'S BLOW THINGS UP - "  
> and Nat being like "Chill dudes, I got this" and being suave as anything with everyone being like "oh lala, madame, si vous plait" and James being like "I like this girl, yes, she lets me be with her, I am so lucky; I get to hold her flower".
> 
> And of course, everyone else being like "this is so chill, why so chill, ahhh, be chill"

The dress is long and cut high at the leg, a dash of fur, gems that drip from her ears in muted, seductive drops mirror gently the ring on her hand with its overlay of light golds, like scales, surrounding a sliver of diamond. The necklace around her neck begins high but drops past her breast bone in the exposed hint of her flesh, hair not its usual red, dyed for the job.

He takes his steps behind her, slightly awkward boyfriend in private, all bodyguard who knows more than his fair share, immaculate black entourage covering up every inch with white gloves to seal the deal, the stereotypical glasses and ear mic to boot. Together they emerge from the car, he to hold her delicately gloved hand, offering her the coat she ‘lazily’ seems to have cast onto the seat, motioning with his hand to the others around.

For a moment, his voice touches her ear lobes, and she runs her hands through the curled ends of her hair, twisting strands and nibbling at her colored lips as she spies Tony Stark near by.

"Remind me again why I’m the bodyguard and you’re the bait? I thought I was the better damsel," she catches the laugh that curls his words like honey in a spring morning.

Through thick, curled lashes, she gives him a look, letting her face flush with delight as her eyes slide over his frame to the cameras that flash as Stark approaches them, the crowd hooting lightly in recognition. “I like to be _in it_ , darling - “

A set of strong arms surround her waist and she is (slightly) manhandled, turning the motion into a delicate balancing act of ‘I’m drunk’ and ‘you better be hot’ as she grasps at Stark’s crisp shirt, nails shakily meeting the front of his jacket. She allows her brows to jump, her mouth to part, and a soft moaning laugh to be his reward.

"In what, is there something I’m missing, come on, now, don’t leave me hanging." Tony smells like alcohol, smells like she does, but tinged with high class men’s cologne, all play, all fun, his brows quirking over his all-seeing sunglasses.

She laughs and flicks at him, pulling away to appear as though she must collect herself, still perpetually enthralled, more delighted, watching his lips move in hurried, inaudible words, still a champion’s smile -

'There's a bomb.'

Arm in arm, dressed at last and not losing her shoe, it is her turn to steer the affable playboy into the throng of people over the red carpet, ignoring the balloons and lights, the glimmer of people more like flashing peacocks than human, trilling and humming to their own beats.

And James follows, his lips hard set so as to not laugh. _It’s always a bomb, but Nat’s already gone off, I bet, and no one else knows._


End file.
